by Jessica Ashe
“I do wish everyone would stop banging on about the entrance exam.”
“Do you remember the question about the Emancipation Proclamation?” Charles nods and I can see he’s a touch embarrassed. “Do you remember what you wrote in response?”
“I remember writing a long coherent answer to that question. I thought it was rather touching. I even had a tear in my eye at one point.”
“And what did you write about?” Charles mumbles something inaudible. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“The rise of feminism in the United States and its effect on the working class male,” he says tiredly.
“You confused emancipation with emasculation.”
“Yeah, I get that now.”
To his credit, he wrote a brilliant essay on feminism, and it came from the heart. I’ve read enough articles and essays over the years to know when people are saying what they think they should say and what they mean.
“And then there’s the answer you gave on the Second Amendment question. Surely you know that the reference to ‘the right to bear arms,’ doesn’t have anything to do with keeping the arms of a bear after a successful hunting trip.”
“That I do know.”
“Then why did you give such a stupid answer?”
“Your gun laws are stupid, so I gave a stupid answer. Call it a protest answer.”
He’s telling the truth, which suggests he doesn’t much care about the entrance exam. Charles isn’t as stupid as I first assumed. He doesn’t enjoy studying, but that doesn’t make him stupid. I need to remember that, or I will underestimate him.
I watch Charles as he organizes his books and notes in front of him. I can tell studying doesn’t come naturally to him. He doesn’t have the sticky labels and highlighters spread out in front of him that are indicative of those as studious as me. Studying takes a real effort for him.
Maybe that’s why he ends up staring at me. I caught him staring at my chest the last time we studied, but he could just as easily have caught me doing the same to him. Even now, I’m looking at every movement of his bicep as he flexes his arms in that tight polo shirt.
In the six months I’d been with Brian, I’d never looked at him like I’m looking at Charles now. Brian was perfunctorily good looking, but he was normal. Charles is anything but normal. He’s not huge, but he doesn’t have any body fat. His skin hugs every muscle tightly, putting it on show for everyone who looks.
“You’re not enjoying this, are you?” I ask.
“It’s studying. Surely even you don’t enjoy it. It’s something we do because we have to.”
“You don’t have to though. Surely you could have just waited another year before coming to America. Why come here now and put yourself through all this?”
“I told you, I wanted to be close to my father after my mother died.”
And yet he hasn’t seen his father since he’s been in the US. From what I overheard of his phone conversation, it sounds like he will see his father this weekend, but he hadn’t exactly sounded excited about the prospect. Why move halfway across the world and mess up your career to be close to someone and then not see them?
“Is that the only reason?” I ask.
“Yes,” Charles replies. “Of course, now I’m here, I have another reason. A much sexier reason.”
“Charles….”
“I know, I know. I have to behave. It’s just hard to do that around you.”
“Better get used to it because—”
I sit bolt upright as the loud chimes of the doorbell sound directly above my head.
“It’s a little loud,” Charles concedes, as he stands up and heads to the door. “Won’t be long—I expect it’s just a new television I ordered online.”
I watch Charles as he walks out of the room. More specifically, I watch his ass, each cheek visible in his tight shorts. I’ve never really stared at a man’s ass before, but this one I could happily watch all day.
The second Charles opens the door, it becomes clear that this had nothing to do with the delivery of a television. Not unless delivery drivers have started bringing babies along with them. The noise of the baby crying is almost as is deafening as the doorbell.
“You have to take her,” an exhausted woman says to Charles. “I have an interview and my mom’s at work.”
“I can’t, I’m studying,” Charles replies.
“Oh, poor you. You’re always saying I need to get a job, and now that I have the chance to get one you can’t even be bothered to look after your own daughter?”
Daughter? Charles is a father?
Before I’m even aware of my actions, I stand up and quietly walk over to the door where I can see Charles, the woman, and the baby. The woman is holding the crying baby up to Charles, but he refuses to take her.
“You can’t just drop her on me like this. That’s why we have an arrangement.”
“Screw the arrangement. Take her Charles, or you give up all your rights to complain about me not having a job.”
Charles sighs loudly, but reaches out and takes the baby into his arms. The baby’s crying becomes a whimper as her daddy rocks her in her arms.
“When will you pick her up?”
“Tomorrow morning,” the woman replies. “Or maybe tomorrow lunchtime.”
“Long job interview,” Charles says sarcastically.
“Give it a rest, Charles. I can do without your….” She trails off as she spots me. “Well well, what do we have here? No wonder you don’t want to look after your own child.”
“That’s my tutor,” Charles says, after looking around and seeing me standing in the doorway. “Like I said, I’m studying.”
“Sure, sure. And your tutor just so happens to be an attractive, and probably naïve, young woman. Just your type.”
“I am his tutor,” I say stepping forward and offering my hand to the woman. “My name’s Rebecca.”
She makes no effort to shake my hand, so I quickly withdraw it. “I don’t care what your name is sweetheart, and neither does he. Charles doesn’t make a habit of remembering their names.”
“Ignore Dana,” Charles says. “I know I try to.”
“Just like you ignore your daughter?” Dana says. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Charles. I guess I’ll see you too, Rebecca. He usually lets them stay until morning. Charles is quite the gentleman like that.”
Dana turns on her heel and storms off leaving Charles and I standing there with only the sounds of the baby breaking the silence.
I pretend to study as I hear Charles coming back down the stairs with the baby. I’ve been sitting here in a daze for the last five minutes just trying to get my head around this entire mess.
Charles has a baby. That certainly explains why he’s here in America. I knew something wasn’t quite right with that story about his father. Although, if he’s come all this way to spend more time with his child, he has a funny way of showing it. He looked even less excited to see the baby that he did at the thought of studying. Not exactly father of the year material, although he isn’t the first jock to get a woman pregnant and then abandon his responsibility. It doesn’t sit right with me. I’m sure Charles is better than that. Maybe I’ve just been hoping he’s better than that.
“Sorry about her,” Charles says as he walks back into the dining room with the baby in his arms. “Dana always hands Gemma over when the baby needs changing. I think it’s that extra little bit of punishment.”
“I’m not sure looking after your baby is supposed to be a punishment.”
“She thinks it is, and I want her to keep thinking that. If she knows I enjoy spending time with this little terror, then she’ll just make it difficult for me.”
Charles opens a closet and drags out a high chair, placing it next to him by the table. He lowers Gemma into the chair, but the second her butt touches the seat she starts crying again.
“She likes being held by her daddy,” I say, as Charles lifts her backup and she immediat
ely stops crying.
“I liked that at first, but now all she does is scream at me whenever I’m not giving her one hundred percent of my attention. She’s a bit like you in that respect, really.”
“I don’t want you to give me your attention; I want your attention to be on your studying.”
“If you say so,” Charles replies, gently bouncing the baby in his arms. “Sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Maybe not, but I should have told you for your article. You could have broken the news and gotten a lot more publicity.”
“I’m guessing that’s exactly why you didn’t tell me.”
Charles nods. “People treat you differently when they know you have a child. I know I’ll have to tell people eventually, but for the time being I’m hoping we can keep this between us.”
“I can handle that.”
“Talking of handling things, you want to hold her?”
“Are you sure? She’s so tiny. How old is she?”
“Ten months. She’s tougher than she looks, although best to avoid dropping her if you can.”
I can’t remember the last time I held a baby. I’m not sure I’ve ever held one this small. Her face cringes as if she’s about to break out into tears, but instead she just stares at me intently with big curious eyes.
“She is absolutely adorable.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw the contents of her nappy.”
“Oh I’m sure it was delightful, wasn’t it you cute little thing,” I say, as my voice quickly changes to that silly voice people always use to talk to babies. My heart melts as she cracks the tiniest of smiles, and reaches out to touch my face.
“I guess I should have wheeled her out earlier,” Charles says. “I forgot that babies make women swoon.”
“They also remind us that sex has consequences, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
I blow gently in Gemma’s face and she giggles in response, a little spit bubble appearing and then busting on her lips.
“Let’s bring her through to the living room,” Charles says. “I’ve got one of those bouncy seats that can keep her amused for hours on end.”
Sure enough, the second Gemma is in her seat, she starts laughing while working her little body back and forth as much as she can.
“Does she still do that thing where she grabs your finger when you place it in her palm?” I ask.
“Sometimes,” Charles replies. “It’s not reflexive anymore, so it just depends what mood she’s in. Give it a try.”
I reach out my finger and places on the palm of her hand. Charles is right, her reflexes aren’t instinctive anymore, but she still grabs hold of my finger anyway and tugs on it with a surprising amount of strength. I don’t pull my finger away, so Gemma just waves my hand up and down and from side to side as she pleases.
She’s a real, little person. Logically, I know most people end up having children, and it’s not usually difficult, but that doesn’t change my complete amazement that Charles created this little thing. Not just Charles, of course. Charles and Dana. Dana had been an adorable little girl just like Gemma at one point, but now she seemed a little rough around the edges, and that’s being polite.
“Are you and Dana still close?” I ask.
“Do we look close?”
“Things looked a little frosty from my perspective, but clearly you two had a connection at one point.”
“Not really. I mean, sure, my penis connected with her vagina thanks to a broken condom, but that’s about it.”
“So you two aren’t still… you know….”
“Definitely not,” Charles replies firmly. “She’s a nightmare. I have to pay her a small fortune just to see my own kid.”
“That can’t be legal.”
“I’m sure it’s not, but I don’t want to drag my child through the courts.”
“She’s going for an interview today,” I remind Charles. “Maybe things will change when she has a job.”
“She’s not going for an interview. She’s going out with friends and is probably going to end up sleeping at some stranger’s house, or she will have some stranger in her house. Hence, she’s not going to pick up Gemma until tomorrow morning.”
“Oh. That makes sense. Is that how you met? Not that I’m judging.”
“Pretty much,” Charles admits. “I was over here visiting my father and I went for a few drinks. She liked my accent, and next thing you know we’re back at my hotel. I never imagined having a child via a one night stand; I’m usually so careful. Not that I have any regrets. I mean, look at her; that is one cute little baby.”
He’s right. I’ve been barely able to take my eyes off her this entire time, and that really is saying something when Charles is sitting opposite me. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to have a child, but at least Charles has the money to look after her. Gemma is never going to want for anything—well, maybe a slightly more caring mother.
“How often do you get to see her?”
“Not as often as I’d like. There are lots of spontaneous visits like this though, so it works out okay. There are many parents who work so hard they don’t get to see their children as much as I do. I can’t complain, although she’d never leave my sight if I had my way.”
“I’m sure you’re a great father,” I say softly. “Although you’re going to be a nightmare when she’s a teenager. I pity her boyfriends.”
“Unfortunately she’s going to have plenty of ammunition to fire back at me if I stop her doing what she wants. Can you imagine me lecturing her on not having casual sex?”
“Good point.”
I can’t resist playing with Gemma some more, and I quickly find out that she’s ticklish on her feet. How do parents ever get anything done with these little bundles of joy around?
“She has such a cute laugh,” I say while tickling the soles of her feet.
“She has an evil laugh,” Charles replies. “Listen to this and tell me it isn’t the laugh of someone planning to kill me in my sleep.”
Charles leans over and lifts up Gemma’s little shirt before blowing a loud raspberry on her belly. Charles is right. Gemma’s laugh doesn’t sound like the innocent laugh of a child; it sounds like the laugh of an evil genius who’s just caught James Bond and is about to explain her plan.
“That’s scary,” I admit. “I’m starting to think she might turn out like her mother.”
“No, I think Gemma’s more the evil genius type. Dana is just plain evil.”
“Dana didn’t seem to like me very much. Is she worried about strange women being around her daughter.”
“You’re not a strange woman,” Charles replies. “And despite what you might think about me, I don’t actually have a revolving door on my bedroom. Not since I moved to America anyway.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Charles raises an eyebrow. “You are?”
“For Gemma’s sake,” I add. “Not because I’m jealous.”
“Uh-huh. If you say so.”
He stares at me with a knowing grin. He thinks I’m into him, and I wish I could tell him he’s wrong.
Face facts, Rebecca. He’s an insanely good-looking, slightly cocky footballer, who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Oh and he has a cute baby.
Charles isn’t the type of guy I should fall for. My relationship with Brian ended terribly; I need to learn the lessons from that. If I let myself get close to Charles, things will end a hell of a lot worse. I won’t just be embarrassed next time; I’ll be heartbroken.
“We should get back to studying,” I suggest. “How about I bring all the books in here?”
“If you insist.”
“You need to study, and I need the money.”
“Just say you tutored me all day. It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone.”
“No, but I don’t trust that one there.” I nod towards Gemma who is still grinning. “She’ll rat me out the first ch
ance she gets.”
Charles and I gather up all the books and bring them into the living room so we can study and keep an eye on Gemma at the same time. I feel guilty for allowing us to get distracted. Charles has to do well in his exams, and it’s my job to make him study. If he fails his exams, it’s on me as much as on him.
He’s not stupid. I’m not sure I’d go as far as to say he’s clever—not yet—but he’s definitely not stupid. When he does stop staring at me for five minutes, he reads the text quickly and devours the meaning with little effort. Getting him to concentrate is the tricky bit.
“Stop looking up at me,” I scold, as I catch his eyes darting up from the book. “You can’t look to me during the exam.”
“You motivate me to keep reading. If you weren’t here, I’d have given up a long time ago. Sorry, but if you want me to keep studying you’re going to have to let me check you out once in a while.”
“Were you always like this in school?”
“No, but I never wanted to fuck any of my teachers. Well, actually, there was that one—”
“I don’t want to know,” I interrupted. “Anyway, you don’t want to fuck me, you just want to get a rise out of me.”
“For someone so clever, you do say a lot of stupid things. I definitely do want to fuck you. And I’m going to.”
“Are you now?” I say, trying to sound casual and disinterested. This seems surreal. Men like Charles are the stuff of fantasies, but he’s saying that if I click my fingers I can have him right here, right now. Or maybe upstairs—I’m not sure I want to do anything like that with Gemma watching on eagerly.
“How much longer are you going to make me wait?” Charles asks. “We’re both suffering here.”
“I’m only suffering because you won’t focus on the text. Where are your highlighters? You’ll be able to concentrate easier if you highlight the text as you go.”
“I don’t have any.”
“You don’t have any highlighters?” What kind of student doesn’t have highlighters? I can’t live without my collection of six different colored highlighters. “Please tell me you at least have sticky labels to tab pages.”
Charles looks back at me with a bemused expression on his face. “Do I really need all that crap?”